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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516211">blackout</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai'>Space_Samurai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Character Study, Drunkenness, Dubious Morality, M/M, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:21:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“My mother was a saint,” he slurred and visibly tightened his hold over the neck of the bottle.</p><p>If he had been sober, Crocodile would’ve swiftly changed the subject. The past is a place he doesn’t like to visit, be it his or someone else’s. Drunk as he is, he just nods.</p><p>“Mine was an amoral bitch,” he shared. “I do miss her sometimes.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>blackout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the anniversary of a tragedy. He can tell because of the way the brat is drinking. In maybe twenty minutes, he manages to finish two of his finest vintages all on his own. It’s not odd for them to overindulge together -in fact, Crocodile would argue that the whole point of their visits to each other is to <em> indulge </em>-, but he’s not even enjoying it, merely throwing back his head and swallowing.</p><p>It’s too late to regret the unfortunate timing. They had set the date months before. Crocodile had arranged for them to leave the Holy Land together after one of the obligatory Warlord meetings that Sengoku insisted upon, to spend a few days in Alabasta during the short rainy season. Unfortunately the Grand Line hadn’t cooperated, and a vicious storm delayed their arrival to the desert country. Which brought them to their current predicament.</p><p>Crocodile glared as the younger man uncorked the third decanter, but said nothing. This is what the Family was for. Crocodile could barely put up with him when the other was making a conscious effort to be charming and smooth, drunk -not in the fun way- and twitchy he was unbearable, not to mention unpredictable, which could easily turn dangerous for a man of his size and power.</p><p>“Having fun?” He asked dryly when their eyes met across the table. </p><p>Doflamingo seemed to remember his manners.</p><p>“Sorry Croc. I’m leaving you behind.” With far too much grace, he filled his glass to the brim. “How rude of me.”</p><p>“It is,” he complained, but emptied the glass, deciding that dealing with the brat’s mood while sober was a terrible idea. The wine warmed him rather fast, the sweetness of the grapes making him lick his lips. He caught the other’s gaze and wondered if maybe there was some hope for the evening after all. “Don't empty my cellar.”</p><p>“I’ll just buy you a new one.”</p><p>“Your taste in wine is shit.” He recalled plenty of hangover mornings due to the poor quality of the brat’s choice in beverages.</p><p>“I’ll have Pink choose them then.” </p><p>To further confirm that he wasn’t being himself, the brat didn’t try to pull him into his lap, nor did he try to climb on him. The air inside was becoming stifling and Crocodile suggested thy move to the balony, which offered an ample view of the desert.</p><p>They didn’t do feelings or concern, so he wasn’t going to offer him a shoulder to cry on or comforting words, <em> again </em>, that was what the Family was for.  But if the brat started babbling about whatever happened to haunt him, he’d pretend to listen and tune it off, going through account books on his head.</p><p>They finish two bottles before their speech becomes slower and they begin to loosen up. At least Crocodile does, which is a feat on itself. Doflamingo only seems to grow tenser by the second, unable to hold his undisturbed facade. Crocodile gives it five minutes before he cracks. When he doesn’t and he continues to twitch and turn on his chair, Crocodile kicks him under the table.</p><p>“Awfully distracted, aren’t we?”</p><p>Maybe he does want to know what ails him, in a morbid sense. Whatever manages to haunt Doflamingo has to make for an interesting tale.</p><p>The bird turned to look at him, eyes becoming focused behind the sunglasses.</p><p>“Demons of the past?” He asked an arched eyebrow.</p><p>“Not really. My mother was a saint,” he slurred and visibly tightened his hold over the neck of the bottle.</p><p>If he had been sober, Crocodile would’ve swiftly changed the subject. The past is a place he doesn’t like to visit, be it his or anyone else’s. Drunk as he is, he simply nods.</p><p>“Mine was an amoral bitch,” he shared. “I miss her sometimes.”</p><p>Perhaps shocked by his wording, Doflamingo let out a startled laugh. </p><p>“She sounds like you,” Crocodile scoffed. “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you talk about your family. Tell me about her.”</p><p>“I just told you,” he stared at the stars above, willing his thoughts away from the memory of a woman who had died long ago. Doflamingo elbowed him.</p><p>“C’mon wani, spit out.” The brat insisted, and since his voice had left behind a bit of its melancholy, Crocodile relented. “Must have been an interesting woman, if she was your mother…”</p><p>“She killed my father.” Well, that came out of nowhere. He had meant to say: ‘<em> she had black hair </em> ’, ‘ <em> she was good with the sword </em>’, and instead he revealed far too much about himself. He took the bottle from Doflamingo’s hand and finished it. Maybe he could get drunk enough to turn the night into a blur. The bird was well on his way to do so. “I was six years old at the time.”</p><p>“Bet she had her reasons,” Doflamingo said in an odd tone. </p><p>“He wanted her to settle down. Get married, leave the sea forever and shit, raise goats or something.” He barely remembered the man, so he couldn’t possibly have been that remarkable. He did remember the fights though, the endless yelling in the middle of the night, in the rare occasion that they came to visit him. “And… and she didn’t like his life plan.” Even now the thought of her doing anything but roaming the seas was laughable. </p><p>“He wanted to tie her down and she killed him for it.” The brat nodded, as if he agreed with her decision. “Sounds like she was a practical woman."</p><p>It would’ve been simple to let him believe that, but Crocodile, for unknown reasons, felt like clarifying. </p><p>“That wasn’t the issue. He wanted to take me, said that the life of a pirate wasn’t suited for a child. And she did <em> not </em> like that.” That was one of the few vivid memories he had of his early years, the flash of outrage and anger in his mother’s yellow eyes and her lack of hesitation when she pulled the trigger. </p><p>“Did you resent her for it?”</p><p>“No,” he reached down and uncorked another bottle. His cellar was going to suffer for this nostalgic trip to their childhoods, he just knew it. “Frankly, I didn’t really care.”</p><p>“Fufu~ How cold of you, Croc.” He shrugged. </p><p>“If she hadn’t killed him, I would have ran away the first night and tried to find her.” His insides felt warm and heavy and he briefly considered to stop drinking, before continuing to do so. “I liked her more than him.” Despite her many flaws.</p><p>“Children often do,” Doflamingo snorted, finishing the glass that Crocodile had abandoned. “A lot of things about you are starting to make sense.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” he retorted with no bite. “I don't think I'd be a pirate if it wasn't for her.” He had plenty of opportunities to leave that life behind, when he was a teenager and without a wanted poster.</p><p>“You grew a liking for looting and could never quit, huh?”</p><p>“I liked being free. She- <em> we </em> did whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. And she was strong enough to afford that freedom.” An alarm pounded on the back of his head, warning that he was revealing too much, that he’d regret it in the morning. The buzz tuned it off. “We went to Fishman Island when I was five, coated the ship in Sabaody and all that crap…” His chest felt constricted, for some reason. “Even before we got there, when we were diving, I thought ‘I want to live like this forever’. Farmers stay on their farms, merchants don’t stray from the safe routes and the marines have to follow orders.” He shook his head. “Piracy was the only way to keep that sensation.”</p><p>“What happened to her?” Doflamingo asked quietly.</p><p>“She died. Some fucker put a bullet through her head.”</p><p>They sat in silence for a while, looking at the stars over the vast expanse of the desert. His head was starting to hurt, whether it was because he had dusted off some of his less than pleasant memories or the wine, he wasn’t sure. He pushed the decanter to the other man, who took it in silence.</p><p>“What about you?” He asked, not because he actually cared but because it was just dawning on him how much he had talked and he didn’t want to be the only one of the two venting about old shit.</p><p>“Croco wants to know more about me? I’m honored.” He kicked his shin, but Doflamingo didn’t even flinch.</p><p>“You were the one who brought up the subject,” he pointed out, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his coat. He was feeling unusually heated, seeing that he rarely sweated. </p><p>“Indeed.” He looked at the empty bottle. “Got any whiskey?” </p><p>“Third shelf. Control yourself, I’m not holding your hair while you puke your guts out.” Crocodile warned. “And bring two glasses, we are not barbarians.”</p><p>“We’ve got two glasses.” Crocodile glared.</p><p>“These are <em> wine </em> glasses.”</p><p>“Sure you weren't raised by some snobby noble?” He brought the two glasses anyway. Once he served them, Doflamingo took a sip and winced. Crocodile held back a sigh. “Fuck that's strong, Croco.”</p><p>He stared expectantly. “You were saying…?”</p><p>Doflamingo huffed. “If I had known that all I needed was five bottles of wine to make you interested, I would have gotten you drunk ages ago.” </p><p>They had gone through five already? It felt like both too few and too many. Crocodile counted four on the floor of the balcony and there were at least three inside the living room. Just thinking about it gave him a headache that promised to worsen in the morning.</p><p>“Quit stalling.” He received a pout in response, but it was short-lived.</p><p>“I'm afraid my story isn't as interesting as yours. My mother died of illness when I was eight.”</p><p>He wasn’t expecting that. Such a… lackluster death. He couldn’t imagine his mother perishing to sickness -had he ever even seen her with a fever or a common cold?-, she had always stood firm and strong as an Adam’s tree. </p><p>His surprise must have shown, because Doflamingo sniggered. “Not what you expected?”</p><p>“No.” He tried to make a coherent story with the things he knew about Doflamingo, but things didn’t add up. He squinted his eyes at him. Even if Doflamingo’s current headquarters was the equivalent of a crackhouse, there was something terribly aristocratic about him. He couldn’t explain what exactly, but he got the feeling that he had known money and lots of it. Though rich people didn’t usually die of things like that, since they could afford good doctors. </p><p>“Smoke is coming off your ears.”</p><p>“Get fucked.” He let the whiskey burn his tongue before speaking. “You are some noble’s bastard.”</p><p>His eyebrows twitched in interest. “Say what?”</p><p>“You don’t just hate them, you <em> resent </em> them.” They had known each other long enough for him to be well aware of that. “So it's personal. Maybe you grew up in your father’s state with your mother, with all the luxuries of an heir but none of the security that comes with the position. And don’t try to lie, you act like you’ve had money. Then when your father finally married some inbred noble girl, you two ended up on the streets and your mother got sick.” It felt like it could be the truth, even if Crocodile couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle. </p><p>“Is that what you really think?”</p><p>“I think it comes close enough.” He frowned. “Am I wrong?” There’s always some error range.</p><p>“Yes. Unfortunately my parents were <em> very </em> married when I was born.” He did not bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. “But you are right in that I had money. Fufu, I had more riches than all your loots combined. And you are right in that I <em> lost </em> them.” </p><p>“So you have blue blood.” The Revolutionary Army might be raging nowadays, but rebellions and war weren't exclusive to their machinations. It wasn't hard to picture him as the spoiled son of a duke or lord, it was even easier to see him resenting them as a group when his family fell from grace.</p><p>“Close enough. Was it the endless riches that gave it away?” He took off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Crocodile looked away,</p><p>“It's also the way you go about everything.” He couldn't put it into words. “As if the world was your birthright.” He lightened a cigar. “Nobles act like that, the Dragons even worse.”</p><p>Something sparkled in his good eye. “They do.” </p><p>Seemingly done with the distance between them, he moved the table and pulled his chair closer to him, that way he could drape himself over Crocodile like the oversized cat he was. He didn’t complain, pleasantly buzzed and ready to nod off and forget all the things they had shared. </p><p>The brat laid his head on his chest and Crocodile ran a hand through his hair, figuring that there was no harm if they were going to forget about it. He fought a yawn.</p><p>“It was all my father’s fault.” He whispered against his throat. “Gave up everything without thinking about the fucking consequenses. It was all his fault.”</p><p>“It crossed my mind.” </p><p>“It did?”</p><p>“You are way too accepting of my mother killing my father. And you don’t seem to mourn him the way you mourn your mother.”</p><p>“I've never mourned him... because I was the one who killed him.” He confessed. </p><p>Crocodile felt like pouring himself more whiskey, but he’d have to push off the brat to do so. </p><p>“You had your reasons.” He said instead. "I bet."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can you tell how much I like these two? This was meant to be a 500 word drabble.</p><p>Please let me know your thoughts in the comments!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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